


we come together, state of the art

by shoulderbladesarewings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, High School, M/M, Party, Temporarily Unrequited Love, and niall's just here and happy, harry and louis are idiots and liam and zayn are meant to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoulderbladesarewings/pseuds/shoulderbladesarewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: HighschoolAU! in which Liam, Zayn, and Niall run in different crowds until Zayn gets drunk, sucks off Liam behind the house, and Niall finds them. (sexual)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we come together, state of the art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blahthelarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahthelarry/gifts).



‘Why the fuck are we here?’ Zayn mutters to Louis as their lazy stride comes to a halt outside Liam’s house. Zayn can hear the music thumping from here, and it’s certainly better stuff than he would have expected from a jock’s house party (Rihanna, ‘Pour It Up’), but that doesn’t make him any more eager to be here, even if it is with his best friend and a blunt in his pocket.

   ‘Don’t be boring,’ Louis reprimands. ‘Someone high up’s hot for you and we got invitations and fuck me if I’m going to be left out of Liam Payne’s Halloween party just cos you’re a social recluse.’

   ‘Why couldn’t you just have left me at home?’

   ‘Be _cause,_ my ridiculously dim genius darling, I was given the invite with the strict understanding that you would be coming too.’

   Zayn groans half-heartedly. He doesn’t really believe Louis’s nonsense about one of the jocks apparently having some crazy crush on him, but it does twist his stomach a little. Especially the thought that it might just be Liam Payne himself, high school sweetheart of the popular crowd and king of the football jocks.

   Not that Zayn’s into that kind of thing. But he’d have to be made of stone to not have noticed that Liam has really nice eyes. And fucking incredible arms.

   Still. ‘We’ll stay for half an hour.’

   ‘Two hours.’

   ‘One.’

   _‘Fine.’_ Louis sighs melodramatically, pinching Zayn’s waist.‘The things I do for you.’

   ‘You mean pimp me out for a party invite?’

   ‘Exactly.’ He grabs his arm. ‘Now let’s get inside before they start thinking we’re weird.’

   ‘We _are_ weird.’

   ‘Not tonight we’re not.’ And with that, Louis pulls him up to the open front door, and they slip inside.

 

*

‘I don’t think he’s coming, Payno.’

   ‘Shut up. He’ll come.’

   Danielle sighs exasperatedly, rolling her heavily made-up eyes. ‘If I’m going to be your beard the least you could do is make an _effort_ to pretendto be my boyfriend.’

   Liam doesn’t move from his spot on his bed, staring out of the window at his street. ‘Tomlinson promised he’d bring him.’

   ‘And _you_ promised you’d host this bloody party with me so get your arse on those stairs before I drop-kick you down them.’

   Reluctantly, Liam allows himself to be pulled away from the glass. ‘He _will_ come,’ he asserts weakly, one final act of defiance.

   ‘Sure he will, babe. And angels will weep when you kiss him in the middle of the kitchen and everyone will applaud and I’ll make out with Melissa in solidarity. Right, what shirt are you wearing?’

   ‘He _will.’_

   ‘Just don’t hold me to that statement in front of a jury. Blue, I think. Goes with your eyes.’

   ‘My eyes are brown.’

   ‘Do I look like a forensic analyst? Put on the damn shirt.’

   Liam does. He often ends up doing what Danielle tells him, mostly because she has better ideas than him and she’s been dealing with the whole being-gay much longer than he has. They fell into ‘dating’ because it was easy, and she now spends the majority of her time with him warning him off Zayn Malik, the art student in their school with the leather jacket and the skateboard and the eyes like the night sky.

   Danielle’s told him a million times to never bring sexuality into school, whether it’s coming out publicly or falling in love with a fellow student, but he couldn’t help but invite him over tonight, just to be near him for a little while. Maybe offer him a drink, maybe get inside his trousers. Tomlinson’s always been astonishingly open about his own sexuality, so Liam didn’t see too much danger in telling him in the strictest of confidences exactly how invested he was in having Zayn come to the party. He seemed to understand. He even wished him good luck.

   But now the little shit hasn’t shown up.

   Making a mental note to beat him up on Monday (OK, he probably gets enough of that so maybe just a dirty look), Liam follows Danielle out of his bedroom, back to reality.

 

*

‘Oh my God.’ A grip like a vice tightens around Niall’s arm. ‘Niall, it’s _him.’_

   Niall dutifully turns his head to where Harry’s oh-so-subtly staring at, and is entirely unsurprised to see Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik, as mussed and paint-stained as ever, looking like they’ve wandered in straight from a hurricane. ‘And is the pining damsel planning to talk to her prince tonight?’

   ‘Ni- _all,’_ Harry whines, pulling a sad face. ‘He doesn’t even know I exist.’

   ‘Really,’ Niall says wryly. Tomlinson’s spotted him, and as usual he’s gazing at Harry like the sun’s shining out of his arse.

   Harry glances back at them and then immediately looks away, blushing deeply. ‘Oh God, he’s seen me. Just…move over there.’

   Niall takes two tiny steps in response to Harry’s persistent shove, and then stays exactly where he is, amusement and exasperation warring in his heart. Malik’s now tugging Tomlinson’s arm, but the blue-eyed boy still hasn’t torn his gaze away from Harry. More specifically, his skinny jeans. ‘For Christ’s sake, Styles, he’s one handjob away from falling in love with you. You might as well make it happen.’

   Harry shakes his head vehemently, the red in his cheeks turning even darker. He almost looks fucking upset, and Niall wants to march over to Tomlinson, take him by the collar and shake him until his teeth are rattling for turning his best friend into this train wreck of uncertainly requited infatuation – but he figures the rate things are going it really can’t be much longer before Harry trips over and lands on Louis’s dick anyway. For the time being, he waves Louis over and then slinks away before Harry can react, weaving his way into the crowd, through the sitting room and kitchen until he’s breathed out into the back garden, finally away from the crush of bodies and the crappy music, able to breathe.

   He really has no idea why he came to the party in the first place – he and Harry, as the hipster kids, technically can’t stand the jocks that predominately populate these places – but Harry heard from a friend of a friend that Tomlinson would be here and all his principles immediately went out of the window like the books with sad endings Niall’s forever finding abandoned on his lawn. He’d probably wear fur from a Siberian tiger if Tomlinson told him to. Hell, he’d probably kill one with his bare hands.

   As for Niall, he isn’t crushing on anyone right now. Or, as Harry insists on calling it, _smushing_ (‘Because crush is such an _aggressive_ word, Niall, I just want to cuddle with Louis and feed him chocolates for sixteen hours, not _crush_ him’), which Niall thinks is about the worst idea he’s had since edible lube (‘That’s already a thing, Harry’. ‘Well not enough people are _using_ it, Niall’).

   He finds a quiet spot just beside the kitchen window and leans against the wall, looking up at the sky to calm himself down, always a little affected by a high concentration of people in a small space, a consequence of his mild claustrophobia. It’s a beautiful clear night, and he can almost see stars.

   Something tells him it’s going to be a successful night for Harry. And that’s enough for him too, really.

 

*

Zayn loses Louis within the first five minutes to doe-eyed, thick-haired Harry Styles, go figure. He doesn’t even say goodbye, just wanders off with glazed pupils and his mouth practically hanging open.

   Why didn’t Zayn see this coming? He’s been unwillingly watching their foreplay for weeks.

   He skulks in the corner by himself for a bit, watching his friend whispering into the other boy’s ear to make his shoulder’s hunch in a giggle. It’s like watching baby cubs snuggle up together – adorable enough to be sickening – so eventually he drifts away, unnoticed among the shiny teenagers shimmying away to Beyoncé songs they probably don’t even know the words to.

   Until he walks right smack into Liam Payne, half-running in the other direction with a plastic cup of water that he promptly spills all over Zayn’s jacket.

   The other boy’s sweet brown eyes widen in abject horror, his hand flying to his mouth as he blushes fiery red. ‘Oh my God. I am _so_ sorry…’ He focuses on Zayn’s face properly, and the colour in his cheeks darkens even further. ‘Zayn?’

   Zayn shrugs out of his jacket and gives it a shake, slightly self-conscious of his home-designed T-shirt with its ripped sleeves and spray-paint smell. He keeps his own eyes lowered, aware that he’s blushing too. The idea that Liam knows his name, knows his face, makes his stomach twist. ‘Yeah. My fault. I was just headed outside.’

   ‘Here.’ Liam puts an arm around him, and Zayn nearly swoons: it’s as hard as rock even unflexed. He smells a little too strongly of Lynx, but Zayn almost thinks there’s something sweet about that, that he obviously cares about personal hygiene. He doesn’t think he’s ever met another guy who actively tried to present as clean. Liam looks like he showers twice a day, and his skin is as soft as soap bubbles. ‘I’ll get you out safely. Don’t want you being knocked about.’

   Zayn nods vaguely, letting himself be escorted to the kitchen. His head is spinning. Why on earth is Liam Payne giving him the time of day?

   _Someone high up’s hot for you…_

   No, it can’t be. He’s pretty sure Liam’s got a girlfriend. In any case, what would a guy like him want with a loser like Zayn?

   The cool air of outside is such a relief that his knees nearly buckle. Liam steadies him seemingly effortlessly, guiding him further into the garden until they’re ankle-deep in dewy grass, surrounded by flower boxes and one beautiful cherry-blossom tree. They’re not alone – Zayn’s aware of some kissing couples and a few scattered stoners staring at the sky – but to Zayn it feels like they’re the only people in the world.

   What the hell is wrong with him? He’s never been a romantic, or even close. It’s Louis whose hard shell hides a core of butter and sugar, with a chronic weakness for dimples and green eyes. It’s Louis who has a secret obsession with romantic comedies, and cries at the end when the protagonists stage-kiss each other under studio lights in front of a green screen of snow. It’s Louis who loves with reckless abandon, and lets himself get heartbroken.

   But Zayn is so strangely, quietly happy here in Liam’s arms (he still hasn’t let go, and he’s not in the mood to wonder why). He’s never really been held like this, bundled up and engulfed by someone else. He’s always the one to wrap himself around Louis when either of them are cold or sad, because Louis’s so busy playing protector to everyone else that he needs someone he doesn’t have to shelter. But Zayn doesn’t really have anyone to do the same for him.

   Liam’s lips brush his ear and he starts, but only slightly. The other boy’s breath is warm and heavy, and it makes goosebumps rise on his bare arms. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

   He leans back into him as coyly as he can given that he can barely breathe, higher than he’s ever been on drugs. ‘Did you want me to come?’

   Liam laughs softly, playing lightly with the hem of his T-shirt like he’s considering putting his hands underneath it. ‘I’m guessing Louis didn’t tell you it was me who invited you.’

   Zayn feels dizzy. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to people like him. It happens to people like Louis, who snog people like Harry at parties, fuck them in strangers’ beds and find folded love notes from them in his locker the next morning. No one’s ever noticed him. He thought they never would. ‘If he had I wouldn’t have believed him.’

   ‘Why not?’ Liam asks, sounding utterly bewildered.

   Zayn wants to laugh at how bizarre this is. Liam must see it. He must know how out of Zayn’s league he is. ‘You’re, like, a big deal, mate.’

   ‘Not to you,’ Liam points out. ‘I didn’t think you even knew I existed.’

   ‘I knew,’ Zayn murmurs, unable to contain the fond smile that spills from his mouth like warm water. ‘I knew.’

 

*

Zayn smells like paint, leather and marijuana, with hints of hairspray and chalk. It’s a dizzying cocktail of chemicals and temptation that makes Liam’s hair stand on end. He can’t believe he’s standing out here under the sky with the boy he’s been fantasizing about for months on end. He can’t believe his dreams are coming true.

   ‘I want to kiss you,’ he murmurs, his voice trembling with his own daring. He wants it; wants more; wants everything he can get, but asking for it is new and raw. He doesn’t ask. People take. Girls throw themselves at him with crimson cups of stale alcohol in their hands; guys awkwardly smash their mouths against his when the bottle spins to face them; Danielle talked him into sex that one time to ‘see what it felt like’. He’s never had to ask, but now he needs permission. Zayn must know what it’s like to be taken from too.

   The other boy slowly turns around, holding Liam’s hands on his waist, until they’re eye-to-eye. His are glittering strangely, as if the sun kissed them before it set and left a little of its light behind. His lips are bitten bright red, his tongue visible when his mouth opens. ‘What are you waiting for, then?’

   It’s not a yes, but Liam’s too drunk to split hairs. He takes it.

   Their teeth clank the first time they connect, and Zayn giggles a little. Then Liam fists a hand in his hair and pulls him close, binding them together, and the giggles stop as their tongues meet, tangling in the warm wetness of their open mouths. He tastes sharp and hot, like pepper, his breath slippery with vodka and urgency. He grips the back of Liam’s T-shirt, his nails digging through the thin material into his back. Unable to stand any part of them not touching, Liam picks him up, and Zayn’s legs wrap around his hips naturally as he leans back against the cold, damp brick wall.

   When people kiss Liam, he’s usually thinking about other things: homework; his room; if his breath smells. But right now there’s only room in his mind for Zayn, from his soft lips to his tiny high gasps to the unmistakable hardness in his jeans. Liam’s hard too, and he lowers Zayn a little on his body, so that he can feel it. ‘Look what you’ve done to me.’

   Zayn giggles again, breathily, a sound Liam’s only ever heard from girls. From Zayn though, somehow, it’s insanely sexy. ‘Want me to fix it?’

   The world spins on its axis like a bowling ball, and it’s lucky Liam’s leaning against the wall because all the feeling immediately leaves his legs. ‘Now?’

   ‘Put me down,’ Zayn whispers, his voice croaky and harsh.

   Gently, Liam sets him down on the ground, and Zayn drops to his knees as swiftly and expertly as if he’s made of water.

   ‘Oh my God,’ Liam breathes, because he’s officially losing his mind.

   Zayn pinches his thigh lightly. ‘Hey. The only name you should be saying is mine.’

   Liam knots his fingers in the other boy’s hair again, thrusting his hips slightly outward. ‘Why don’t you make me?’

   Zayn pulls down Liam’s zip, and instantly closes his mouth over his cock. If Liam liked his mouth before he’s now fallen irrevocably in love.

   Despite his confidence Zayn’s clearly not sure of what he’s doing, his technique loose and uncoordinated and clumsy, but somehow it works. Liam couldn’t have asked for anything better. It feels like barely a minute before he’s gone absolutely crazy, right at the brink and sure beyond a doubt he’s going to wake up with stained sheets and a thumping headache.

   ‘Zayn,’ he pants for what is probably the eighth time, because even in this state he doesn’t want to do anything the other boy doesn’t want, ‘I’m gonna come –’

   Zayn lets out a small snort of a laugh, and then suddenly bobs his head down, taking in every inch until his nose is pressed right up against Liam’s jeans.

   And that’s it for Liam, and possibly for the world, because the apocalypse could happen in this second and he’d be completely unaware, seeing stars when he shuts his eyes, his ears ringing like holy bells, only able to hold on to one thing, one thing he’ll never let go of again: Zayn.

 

*

‘Zayn…Zayn…ah, fuck _Zayn…’_

   What the hell?

   Niall knows he’s nowhere near within his rights to investigate the random cry of his best mate’s potential boyfriend’s best mate’s name, but you can’t blame a guy for being curious. He’d always considered Zayn basically celibate, one of those guys so beautiful as to be intimidating, fated to spend their school days dateless and virginal.

   So he’s surprised, to say the least, when his adjusted eyes make out the visage of Liam Payne, pressed against the wall of his house, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his hand clenched on the dark head of Zayn Malik. Who is giving him a blow job.

   _‘Fuck,’_ Niall murmurs.

   He watches for a while, unable to tear his eyes away. There’s something inescapably fascinating about these two God-like creatures sucking each other off. Fascinating…and hot.

   As if on autopilot, Niall unbuttons his jeans and slips his hand inside. He’s no creep normally but come on: it’s Zayn Malik and Liam Payne. Who gets this opportunity in a lifetime? He has to take it. If he doesn’t do it now, he’ll masturbate thinking about it for the next six months anyway. He might as well get the full experience.

   He steps around a little, to give himself a side view, and nearly falls over at how amazing it looks. Zayn’s cheeks are sucked in, the outline of Liam’s dick pushing against them every few seconds, the pace slow and deep. Zayn’s eyes are open, looking up, glinting in something like amusement and something like awe. Niall’s almost angry at Liam for not looking: does he have any idea what he’s missing?

   ‘Zayn…Zayn…’

   Zayn pops off, a glistening string of saliva still connecting his lips to the head of Liam shining cock, his right hand still gripping the base. He looks positively gleeful, even though his voice is wrecked. ‘Can I help you?’

   Liam grunts, pulling him back. Zayn opens his mouth obligingly, sliding back on like it’s where he lives full-time, and everything else is just filler. His own eyes drift closed, as if in contentment, and he licks over it lazily before drawing back briefly and then starting to suck twice as fast as he did before.

   Liam’s hips snap forward as he lets out a startled _‘Mmmpf!’_ Within seconds, he’s shaking. ‘Zayn…I’m gonna come…’

   Niall expects Zayn to pull away again, but instead he swiftly takes in Liam’s entire length, so Niall can nearly see the shape of it in his throat.

   Liam cries out as he comes, and Niall bites into his sleeve as he does the same.

   Zayn lets Liam’s cock slide from his lips, and then slowly and deliberately swallows. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but Liam gets there first, mumbling ‘C’mere,’ as he pulls Zayn to his feet, pulls his trousers and boxers halfway down his thighs, spits into his palm and grasps his dick.

   Zayn melts as Liam starts to stroke him off, pressing his head into his shoulder and thrusting weakly into his hand. ‘Yeah…come on…like that…mmm, _please…’_

   Niall’s still shell-shocked and sticky from his own climax when Zayn comes, with a choking sound that brings to mind pain as well as pleasure, and Liam strokes him through it as he starts to shudder with sensitivity and exhaustion.

   Then it’s over, and Niall and Liam wipe their hands on their jeans, Zayn licks the shimmer from his lips, and he Liam smile shyly at each other while Niall retreats a little further back in case they decide to turn their heads his way.

   ‘That was…fun,’ he hears Zayn say quietly, still a little croaky.

   ‘You’re amazing,’ Liam replies, his voice slack.

   Zayn laughs. ‘Thanks. Still, I’m sure a bit more practice wouldn’t hurt.’

   ‘Is that your way of asking me out on a date?’

   ‘No, it’s my way of telling you to ask me out on a date.’

   ‘Ah, of course. Well, give me your number and I’ll consider it.’

   Niall leaves before Zayn can answer. He’s had all the awkward flirting he can stomach for one night.

   When he returns to the party, it’s to find Harry and Louis snogging each other stupid on a tiny sofa, pressed right up against some very uncomfortable students pretending to text their friends for something to do with their hands. Niall settles himself down on a spare chair and smiles fondly at them for a little while before bringing out his own phone, and typing out some ideas for a song.

   Liam and Zayn show up ten minutes later, holding hands, and when Harry and Louis finally break apart Louis yells ‘Ayyyyy!’ and Harry spares them a beam before grabbing the other boy’s face again. Liam and Zayn laugh and then leave, presumably so he can show Zayn his bedroom.

   Niall has a good night. He kisses some people, dances with some others, and at the end of the night he gives Harry his blessing to go home with Louis.

   Everyone’s happy.

   And that’s enough.


End file.
